


You are my Sunshine

by captaincastle



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Frank Castle centered, Gen, but with mentions of his family in dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-07 08:46:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12837567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captaincastle/pseuds/captaincastle
Summary: Frank remembers a cherished memory in ways he doesn't expect.





	You are my Sunshine

“Well?” Maria looks to Frank when he hangs up the phone. 

“Power’s out all over the neighborhood. Should be back in a couple hours.” 

Frank Jr groans, “a couple hours? Dad it’s freezing!” 

Maria smiles and claps her hands together. “Ok everybody, go put on some cozy clothes. Frank, hon would you get us some logs outside?” 

Frank Jr trudges up the stairs, Lisa follows but with a bounce in her step. 

“What are you up to huh?” Frank smiles as he tugs on his jacket. Standing in front of him, Maria places Frank’s hat on his head, pulling it down to cover his ears. 

“You’ll see,” she smiles. 

Frank feels her kiss and he wakes with a jolt. His new shitty apartment has heat problems. Goosebumps cover his skin. Only now is he realizing he kicked the blankets off himself in his sleep. He tries to go back to sleep, he wants to relive that dream. That had been such a good day. 

But Frank has work. 

He pulls on a flannel shirt for warmth while he inspects the heater by the window. He gives it a whack with his hand and the damn thing kicks on. He sighs and hisses, when he smacked the heater, a blister on his palm burst open. 

That dream stays with him as he goes about his morning routine. But something is bothering him. He can’t remember what happens after where the dream left off. He remembers making the phone-call and remembers collecting wood from the back porch for their fireplace. 

Frank spreads peanut butter on bread and pauses to try and remember. 

A quick glance at the clock tells him he’ll be late if he doesn’t leave now. He wraps the sandwich and forgets all about the dream until he sits down for lunch. 

Gazing out over the city below, he clears his mind while he munches on his sandwich. The cool air feels good against his sweaty brow. His palm is bloody from the blister, and he tastes the bitter taste of chalky concrete on his sandwich from residue on his hands. 

When he goes home that night, Frank’s room is warm. He sheds his shirt and boots, and picks up the latest book Curtis gave him. He read until he got tired, and drifted off to sleep. 

Still no dream about that winter. He dreamed about Maria kissing his nose instead. 

Soon those dreams turned to violent nightmares, and Frank forgot about the dream of the good memories that winter. 

Months pass. And he’s moved to a safe house. 

It’s not until Frank is up late cleaning his guns that he remembers the dream. 

His guns are covered in blood. So is Frank. A night out as the Punisher always ends in blood. 

Frank hears his blood pumping in his ears as he runs. Heavy work boots thump with each step, he’s chasing someone. His jeans are torn at the knee when he scales the fence. He barely notices the blood now trickling down his calf. He’s already covered in someone else’s blood. 

Blood is his life. He’s been neck deep in blood even before he was the Punisher. This time though it’s different. 

Anger and adrenaline pump in his veins as he runs to catch this scumbag. The cut on his leg doesn’t slow him down. His victim slows when Frank shoots him in the thigh. Blood loss weakens him from the shot, and he collapses. He looks up to see the white skull on Frank’s chest. The bullet in his leg and the smeared paint of the skull are a pretty clear message. 

Death is coming.

Castle cocks his gun, and sees sheer terror in his victim’s eyes as he pleads for mercy. He begs Frank for his life.

But death is not generous.

A quick shot to the head and more blood is spilt by the hands of The Punisher.

Anger builds in Frank’s heart. This scumbag begged for his life. What life did he have? Frank’s family had lives worth living. Didn’t they? And they were brutally taken from him in front of his own eyes.

More blood.

Their lives were taken, and Frank takes the lives of those responsible. He punishes.

But his punishing expeditions almost never leave him unscathed. Frank is not afraid to get his hands dirty, sometimes that means his own blood is spilt in the process.

His trek to his safe house is long. His hands are shoved in his pockets, his wounds ache. It’s late. He’s not even sure what time it is. Even in the city that never sleeps, it’s quiet on the way home.

‘Home,’ he thinks. It’s just a word that represents where he 'lives' to him it's more surviving that living. There is no life worth living to him. There is no home to go back to. All he has to go back to is a shitty mattress and some even shittier MREs to eat.

He tries not to dwell on how he misses going home to a warm bed and a meal. How he misses going home to his children jumping into his arms with excitement. How much he misses a soft kiss from his wife. He attempts to push those thoughts away, but tonight he can’t shake them.

The safe house is dark and cold. The room smells musty, and the scent of metal is heavy. Frank flips on the light switch. The only sound to be heard is the buzz from the lights. No laughing children, no greeting from his wife, only a quiet buzz in an empty room.

A chill up his spin flashes a memory in his head of Maria pulling splinters out of his hand. Why can’t he remember?

Frank sets his weapons down on top of a wooden crate. He’ll have to strip them and clean them later. His first order of business is cleaning himself.

With difficulty he removes his gear, his knuckles are cracked and bleeding. His left ringer finger is broken. The vest comes off easily, he tears apart the Velcro strips with one hand. Carefully and slowly, he pulls off his shirt.

He remembers when Maria used to rip his shirts off. He’d save those memories for lonely nights overseas. Those nights when he ached for his wife.

The ache he feels now will never be fulfilled. He’ll never go home to her loving embrace again.

A lukewarm shower is what waits for him. The hot water heater is busted and Frank still hasn’t gotten around to fixing it. The shower head creaks when Frank turns the knob. He can hear the pipes groaning in the walls as the hiss of the water pours out of the shower.

Frank finishes getting undressed slowly. His broken finger has swollen, and he can’t move it.

He steps under the spray of the shower and examines his body for any wounds he might have missed. Cuts, scrapes, and scars cover his skin. The water on the shower floor is turning pink from the blood washing off his body.

There is one unscented bar of soap and an old rag in the shower, and Frank begins to clean himself. His knee is still bleeding a little, and a cut on his forearm stings under the contact of the water.

Frank remembers when he’d be home, and Maria would sneak into his showers. She squeezed in any time she could get with him. He recalls once when she had put her ‘girly’ soap on a loofah and she’d begun to wash him with it. He’d teased her for the flowery smell, but she just rolled her eyes and continued to rub his skin with the loofah.

He didn’t complain.

She stood behind him and washed his abs off. She put the loofah down when she saw his abs tighten under her touch. So she replaced the loofah with her nails. She scraped them along his abs until he moaned. She moved her hand lower and lower until her fingers wrapped around him for a quickie in the shower.

Shit he misses that. He misses her touch. Her fingers set a fire in him. But her gentle touch also calmed the fire if he was angry.

When Frank would return home after a tour, he remembers the strange adjustment period. How do you go back to your life after all the horrors of war?

Maria was always so patient. She was his rock, and she loved Frank no matter what. And every time, he always found his rhythm. Every time it was because of her. She brought him back. She made him feel safe. She brought that level of comfort that he’d missed when he was away.

That’s why on his last return home, guilt ate him up inside that he couldn’t make love to her. She had done so much for him over the years. He ached for her, and he knew she missed him. But he was just so tired.

He promised he’d make it up to her. She simply smiled and said, “There’s plenty of time for that now that you’re home.”

With relief he returned her smile.

He regrets every day now that he didn’t hold her tighter that night.

He also regrets not fixing the hot water heater. The lukewarm water runs cold, and the harsh chill on his skin brings him out of his thoughts. He finishes washing himself and steps out into the cool air of the bathroom.

Dabbing himself dry with a towel, he picks up his medical kit. He closes the lid of the toilet and props his foot on the porcelain for support. The cut on his knee is worse than he thought. It needs a couple stitches to stop the bleeding. His leg hair on his shin is already beginning to stick to his skin from the blood flow.

A couple stitches and some gauze finally stop the bleeding.

More gauze and tape seals up the cut on his forearm.

His broken finger is starting to turn purple and he needs to wrap it. He makes a small splint and wraps tape around his ring finger to his middle finger to keep it straight.

Once he’s patched himself up, he packs the kit, and stows it under the sink.

Frank catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His hair is stuck to his forehead. The scratchy grit of stubble is on his face. Heavy bags under his eyes indicate his level of exhaustion. But he doesn’t need a mirror to tell him how damn tired he is.

Tired was his reason for not reading Lisa that story.

Tired is his life now without her.

Coffee is Frank’s remedy. Always has been. Doesn’t help him sleep. Though sleep is what he needs – but it doesn’t come naturally to him anymore. The nightmares creep in and he has no peace.

He exits the bathroom to enter his humble living quarters. Without disturbing his broken finger, he carefully tugs on a pair of underwear.

Frank’s living quarters ain’t The Ritz. Hell it’s not even shitty motel quality. There’s a mattress on the floor, covered only by a blanket and a pillow. His clothes are folded in stacks nearby. One thing he maintains is clean socks and underwear. 

Pulling on some sweatpants and a hoodie, Frank walks towards the small kitchen area to brew some fresh coffee. There’s always coffee in the pot, and some nights he doesn’t mind the day old coffee. Tonight though he has to clean those guns. It’s not like he’s going to get any sleep tonight anyway. He can tell now when he’ll get a good night’s sleep. Tonight is not going to be one of those nights.

He gets settled and creates a pile of the guns he needs to clean. It’s going to be a difficult task with his broken finger, yet he carries on.

As he strips the guns and cleans each piece, only to reassemble each weapon, the memory hits him hard. 

He’d gone outside to collect wood for the fireplace. Gathering up several logs in his hands, a couple of them smashed his finger. It wasn’t broken, but it hurt like hell. He pushed the back door open with his boot and called out for Maria. 

Maria came quickly, hearing the strained tone of his voice. 

His finger was jammed, but he stopped to smile and admire his wife wearing an old marine sweatshirt of his. 

“Finger’s caught,” he winces and she reaches for the top log to ease the weight. 

She takes that log and Frank follows to the fireplace in the living room. 

Frank Jr and Lisa are wearing sweaters and have blankets wrapped around their shoulders. Candles light up the room, and Frank sees some marshmallows and chocolate on the coffee table. 

One log goes in the fireplace while Frank gets the fire going. 

“The tweezers in the left hand drawer in the kitchen?” Frank asks as he shoves in the second log. 

“You got a splinter daddy?” Lisa asks. 

“Yeah, got several sweetheart.” 

“I’ll get it!” Maria says and carries a candle to light her way. 

Lisa and Frank Jr cuddle up by the fire roasting the marshmallows, while Maria gets the splinters out of Frank’s hand. 

“It would be really helpful if we had light!” Maria jokes with a smile. The fireplace and the candles around the room gave off a nice glow, but weren’t quite bright enough for her task. 

“Hey Lis, hand me that flashlight,” Frank stuck out his good hand for her to give it to him. Frank held it over his other hand so Maria could see what she was doing. 

“I coulda done this myself,” Frank whispered. 

She shrugged, “I know.” 

Once the splinters were out, Frank sat between his children on the floor to roast marshmallows on coat hangers. They laughed watching him shove the marshmallow directly into the flame to blacken it. He pulled out the blazing marshmallow and gently blew on it to douse the flame. 

He turned to get the chocolate bar and graham crackers, when he saw Maria sitting on the couch with his guitar. 

“When you eat that s’more Lisa has something she wants to show you,” Maria smiles and nods at her daughter. 

Frank fixes and eats his s’more while Lisa sits at the piano. Shyly she begins to play a familiar tune. Frank smiles recognizing it, and Maria hands him the guitar. Frank plays a duet with Lisa. Frank Jr munches on his s’more and enjoys listening to his dad play. 

“Atta girl Lis,” Frank smiles and stands to prop his foot on the piano bench to play closer to her. 

A candle had blown out on the mantle, and from where Frank is standing he could see Maria go to relight it. Her hips swayed along to the music and Frank’s heart swelled. 

Suddenly there was a hum of electricity and the lights came back on. 

The music stopped. Maria quit swaying. 

Frank Jr, still with his s’more in his mouth, stood up and turned off the light in the living room. The glow of the fireplace and candles returned. Lisa and Frank continued their playing, Maria continued her swaying. There was a twinkle in her eye when she made eye contact with Frank. He felt a familiar heat on the back of his neck and ears. 

Frank smiles at the memory. He sets down the gun he’d been cleaning to pick up his guitar to play that song. 

The soft tune of “You are my Sunshine” echoes in Frank’s quiet safe house. He feels better after remembering the memory. Maybe he will get some sleep tonight after all.


End file.
